


The Wolfen - The Hogwarts Years

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Pre-Slash, Time Turner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2004-07-22
Packaged: 2018-05-18 15:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5933290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The foundation of the Wolfen Arc</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Realization

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

My name is Black. Sirius Black.

I am a wizard, an animagus.

I am an exonerated murderer, a former prisoner of Azkaban.

I have been a son, a friend, a lover, a husband, a father.

I am a servant of the Light, an enemy of the Dark Lord.

I am a fool.


	2. Meetings

I saw him first in the entry hall as I waited with the rest of the first years outside the doors to the Great Hall, listening to Professor August Mannheim welcome us to Hogwarts.

We were huddled together, a large group of us, perhaps 20 or 25 of us, damp from our trip across the lake, apprehensive and excited, unsure of the future but desiring it anyway.

I stood next to James, a thin dark-haired boy who wore glasses over alert blue eyes. Next to James was Lilly, a quiet, slight girl with auburn hair and green eyes. On my other side was a short and pudgy boy with brown hair and brown eyes named Peter.

The four of us, strangers until that moment, had shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. By the time we arrived at the Hogsmeade Station we already knew we would be friends, and we hoped to end up in the same House.

Beyond Peter were two boys we had run into as we struggled with our trunks in the corridor of the train. One boy was dark haired with a stocky build, dark eyes and a sour look; the other was tall and blond haired with the look of, well, as much as it pains me to admit it, aristocracy about him.

One look had told me they were no one I wanted to know well, and for their part, they seemed to look down upon us. I heard one of them refer to Lilly as a Muggle and, even worse, a Mudblood. Lilly had no idea of the significance of the terms, but James, Peter and I did. James told them roughly to "Shut it!" and I stood ready to back him up with my fists. It proved to be unnecessary, however, as an older red-headed boy dressed in black robes and wearing a silver badge came along. He helped us to untangle our trunks and told us to find a compartment. One look quelled the other two, and we filed into our seats.

I look back and wonder if the same wizard who charmed the Sorting Hat hadn't charmed the trained when they built it. In the first ten minutes of getting on the train most of the people who would become the closest or most important to me for the rest of my life. The same thing happened to Harry years later.

But I saw **him** first in the entryway to the Great Hall at Hogwarts.


	3. Remus

He stood in the shadows of the stairwell, several feet from Professor Mannheim; with us, yet separate, as if not quite sure of his place in this group of strangers.

I remember well what he looked like then; not so very different from the way he appears now, but also not so worn.

My first impression was of his youth.

He was young; younger than we, that was obvious. His thin face, for all its fine boned features, still held the softer contours of late childhood. His hair, which is now completely silver, was then a thick and silky golden blonde. Over our years together at Hogwarts that heavy mane would darken to a light brown, and as a teacher, when I met him again after my escape from Azkaban, it would become thoroughly flecked with silver.

My second impression was of his height.

He was short, not yet having had our pre-teen growth spurt, and slightly built. Even now Remus cannot, with honesty be called tall; though he is not short, either. He still possesses a slight frame; indeed, depending on his general condition, and the time of the moon, Remus is at times quite frail. We learned soon enough, however, that though he would never have our robust health, he was not fragile. Whatever his body might lack, due to the curse he suffered, his bright spirit was a more than adequate compensation. He could, and still does, drive his body further beyond its limits than anyone I have ever met.

My third impression, the one that struck into my heart, the one which should have warned me, was of his eyes.

Remus' eyes are truly the windows to his soul. Even at his young age he could control his body and his voice, but he had not then learned the trick of managing his eyes. That night they not only absorbed the light from the hall sconces, but truly glowed from within with the great energy of his entire soul. Hope shone from them; hope and delight and eagerness, and they struck into heart, lodging there and taking up residence for what is now going on 25 years.

Looking back on that night, and my first impression of Remus, I can see the irony of my first thought - that he was truly a creature of Fey. Knowing what I know now, of his connection to, and descent from, the inhabitants of Broceliande, I can only marvel that others did not see it as well.

I suppose, for those who know or suspect, his curse overshadows all else. I can, marginally, understand that. Never in recorded history has there ever been another wizard turned werewolf. As far as anyone knows, any wizards who have ever turned were from a bite have either died from the initial attack, been killed, or suicided.

Remus carries his curse with grace and dignity; but those close to him have never been deluded. The werewolf curse is an agonizing ordeal, physically and emotionally. It is a testament to Remus' mind, soul and spirit that he endures the curse, and all it brings with it, without bitterness.

That night, however, I knew nothing of all this; I knew only that something about this small creature called to me, reached out to me.

I did not know that he had claimed me.

Oh, that I had known.


	4. The Sorting

At the time it felt as if I had been staring into the boy's eyes for hours, but it could only have been seconds before James nudged my side with his elbow, breaking my gaze and reorienting my attention on Professor Mannheim.

The professor waved his wand in our direction, murmured _"Evaporatus"_ , and steam rose momentarily from our clothes. Immediately we were more comfortable. He instructed us to follow him into the Great Hall where we would be sorted into houses, greeted by the new Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, and welcomed by a feast.

I followed after Peter, as James and Lilly followed after me, and our group filed into the Great Hall to stand in a row in front of the teachers' table. We faced four great tables full of students, each draped in what I supposed to be the colors of their Houses, and each with a banner suspended on the walls behind them in the same colors. I had no time to check for sure, but I thought there were animals depicted on each.

Professor Mannheim placed a battered stool in front of us, then set a shabby old wizard's hat on top of the stool. I had heard many frightening and humiliating stories of how students were sorted into houses from my parents and their friends in the last month or so, as had James and Peter. Lilly, of course, didn't even know about Houses, let alone the method by which we were placed in them. None of the stories we had told each other on the train, though, had mentioned a hat. I could not imagine what was coming next.

In the seven years I was at Hogwarts I watched the sorting ceremony six more times. Each time the hat would sing or recite a new introduction - usually quite long. This night he made it short and simple.

I have to wonder just how much of its' enchanter is imbued within that hat? I have since often wondered who he or she could have been. Not, I think, Gryffindor or Slytherin, and probably not the others, either. Whomever it was knew each of the Hogwarts founders very well, too well, to have been one of them. No one is that dispassionate about themselves. I suppose we will never know.

I also wonder how much of the future that wizard could see.

I, however, could not, and cannot see into the future. I would have failed Divination had I not used the same strategy Harry and Ron would later use. I am, I think, grateful for that, although had I the gift it **might** have saved me grief and much heartache.

James and Lilly might now be alive, Harry would have his parents, Peter would not have turned traitor, I would not have spent the last twelve years in Azkaban, I would not have doubted Remus, and Remus, my brave and gentle Remus...

I would not have had, so briefly, a wife and child.

But then, many more people might have died; Voldemort might even now be in power.

Be that as it may, the hat began to speak."

_"Loyal Heart, Nimble Mind,_

Warrior Spirit, Soul Unkind;

\--

Hopes and Dreams, 

Lusts and Desires; 

Your hidden thoughts 

do I require.

\--

Sorted this night 

by your innermost soul, 

Judged ye shall be; 

All foreseen, all foretold."

I know now, because Dumbledore has finally convinced me, that the hat sees us, not only as we are, but as we will be. Otherwise the selections could never go as they do. I certainly would not make the choices the hat does, but the hat is never, in the end, wrong.

I hope.

I was one of the first to be sorted, as my last name began with 'B'. I picked up the hat and clapped it on my head, having no idea of how it worked. The few students ahead of me - two Hufflepuffs and a Slytherin - had sat for a few seconds before the hat announced their House. James told me later that only Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew sat longer than I did.

The hat had quite a lot to say to me. It mentioned a brilliant mind, a bold, brave attitude, great wizarding talent. It mentioned the ability to love greatly, and a strong sense of loyalty to my friends. It also mentioned pride, a tendency to anger, an unchecked temper, a desire to resort to violence to solve problems, self righteousness, a proclivity to misjudge, and an inability to forgive or admit to fault. I feared, as Harry would when it became his turn to be sorted years later, that I would be put into Slytherin.

I come from a wizarding family. Both of my parents graduated from Hogwarts. My father was Head Boy, my mother a prefect. Though both belonged to Ravenclaw, and would have been very happy to see me there, I had secret hopes of Gryffindor.

My favorite uncle, my mother's brother, had been in Gryffindor. I admired him greatly. He had style and swagger, and was always in the middle of great things. He'd played Quidditch for the House team while at school, and later on, briefly, for England. My parents told me many times, not quite happily, that I was just like him.

To be put in Slytherin - it would break my parents heart.

It was with great relief, and not a little of that unfortunate pride, that I heard the hat announce "Gryffindor!".

There was loud applause as I walked on shaky legs to the Gryffindor table and seated myself near several empty chairs I hoped would soon be filled with James and Lilly and Peter.

Knowing it would be a while before the others would be sorted, all of their names coming near the end of the alphabet, I spared the time to look about me at the hangings, crests and tables. I had gotten lost in the ceiling's evening sky when my attention was wrenched back to the sorting.

"Gryffindor!"

I had thought he must be a staff child, a son of one of the teachers or servants, though I'd seen no servants around. I was surprised to see he was a student.

He came hesitantly to our table, wearing a shy smile, and looking very young. He has always looked young, in spite of his gray hair, has my Remus, a fact he curses periodically when he wishes to be taken seriously.

Most people never go beyond the surface with him. His looks, his apparent youthfulness, his "illness", his curse.

They miss a lot.

He looked to me for permission, then sat next to me amidst the applause from our new house for their second new member. I remember I smiled back at him, his eyes lighting up in return. Strange feelings flooded through me; most of them different from those I'd felt earlier for James and Peter, or even Lilly.

One of those feelings I would now call attraction. It seems odd that I could ever not have known I was attracted to him.

The more fool I.

I was happy he had chosen to sit beside me. I felt protective of him - he was obviously younger than the rest of us, and shy. I was curious about him. Why was here when he was so young, and why was he here at the school ahead of us, waiting?

I simply wanted to know him.

The sorting went on.

Lilly went to Hufflepuff. I was surprised at the time, she seemed so much like James and I, and if Remus made it into Gryffandor, why wouldn't she?

Can you see my pride? As if only the best went to Gryffandor? The founders were wise, prizing all of us and giving us an environment in which to nurture our talents, to become our best, to learn needed lessons.

Lilly belonged in Hufflepuff. Hers was not a warrior's nature.

Lilly was steadfast and loyal and self sacrificing. Where she loved or believed strongly, she was capable of great things. For love of Harry, her child, she was willing to leave James, whom she loved with her entire being, to die at Voldemort's hands. For Harry, she was willing to die herself.

Hufflepuffs are like that.

Dumbledore and Harry have both told me about Cedric Diggory. He would have been, he **was** a fine young man. His path just happened to cross Voldemort's.

Lilly also crossed Voldemort's path, and she, as Cedric would later, did not take the easy road.

Being Lilly, being Cedric, they took the only road they could.

The right one.

Peter and James were sorted into Gryffindor. James quickly, Peter after long delay.

What does the hat know about Peter that I do not? I still desire his death in payment for his betrayal of James and Lilly. I have, however, grown at least a little wiser. It is possible, as Dumbledore says, that Peter's part is not yet played out. I could wish he were not in debt to Harry for his life - I wish him no connection to my godson at all, but the debt will play out, whether I wish it or not.

The two boys we met on the corridor of the train?

Lucius Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin.

And Snape?

When Arthur Weasley, our prefect, led the Gryffindor first years to Gryffindor tower, Severus Snape was the first to follow him.

Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, James Potter.

Severus Snape.

Gryffindor First Years.

Even now, I can scarcely believe it.


End file.
